Elementary
by pinkeop
Summary: Mrs. Lovett always chattered away, even if no one was obviously listening. Oneshot Prompt


**title** Elementary

**author** pinkeop

**summary** Mrs. Lovett would chatter away, even if no one was obviously listening.

**prompt** Sweeney Todd & Mrs. Lovett. Phrase is, "It's elementary, my dear." Activity is a failed attempt at lounging and brooding by Todd. Given by, Brina.

**authors note** A fun little prompt to get my juices flowing and my fingers moving and to entertain you silly people until I start with my regular one-shots again, maybe even another multi-chapter fic or two.

Enjoy!

Love!

Pink Elephants on Parade

--

**Elementary**

_she wants to go fast_

_and never collapse_

_and never come back_

_and he's a real animal_

_gone out of control_

_who'd rather die young than get old_

It was hard not catch the contagious beat the Nellie Lovett moved to every day, every moment, ever second. She was a widowed baker on the move, always on the go, never had time to stop and grieve, stop and think, stop and breath. The clicking of her heels moved in a steady beat that one could almost put music to. As was her nature, of course. She was always moving, always baking, cooking, making something out of nothing. Down in the bake house, copping and slicing and de-boning quicker than any butcher in London. But that was her little secret. Up in the shop she was serving customers, filling pies, popping them into the smaller oven to keep warm, entertaining her guests. She was real wonder, Mrs. Nellie Lovett was. She talked while she worked, even if no one was there to listen, but of course Toby was usually good for a conversation or two, not that they were ever very high, cultured talks. Mostly she prattled on about the past, when she was a young girl, when Albert was still alive, when Lucy was still "alive". And even she seemed to time her words to corrisponde with the beats and thumps and thunks that she created around the kitchen.

And as it were, Mrs. Lovett was always covered in flour. Always. Her hands were constantly dried out, and her hair had random patches of white from the flour. Smudges of white powder were streaked across her abdomin where she'd tried to rub off her hands. Her forehead, cheeks, and lips were splattered with the stuff. Everywhere she went she left behind a streak of powdered flour, even after she'd washed it off. Toby and Mr. Todd had to dodge the crazy sprinklings that were tossed their way whenever the baker made a wild turn or exaggerated hand gesture, or simple entered the room.

So, it was no wonder that warm, sunny Saturday afternoon that Mrs. Lovett could be found fixing up a lunch for the brooding man upstairs. With all the money coming in now, she'd went and bought some special meat that was _not_ one of her customers to make for herself and Mr. Todd, and sometimes little Toby, for she inwardly grimmaced knowing that he was eating the same customer he served the night before who'd unfortunately gone up for a shave. So, with that special meat, Mrs. Lovett had made her barber a special pie for a especially special Saturday. The occasion, Mrs. Lovett did not know, but what she did know was that as she listened to the fast footsteps of the pacing man above, she subconciously moved and spun and stomped in time with his foot falls. She hummed warmly as she placed the finished pie upon an especially clean plate and admired her handiwork. Been making pies since she was just a babe, she had. Smiling to herself, the woman grabbed the plate and warmly sizzling pie and took it upstairs with some biscuits and a mug of ale.

Once on the stairs, Mrs. Lovett's music beat slowed down a bit as she was careful after sloshing the first drop of ale on herself. Heel, toe, stomp. Heel, toe, stomp. At the top, Mrs. Lovett knocked her toe against the slightly ajar door, the poor barber probably hoping to catch a breeze on the summer air. She nudged the door open a bit and poked her head in, hair always a kinky, curly mess atop her head, a few spirals falling to rest on her pale, thin throat. "Mr. T!" she chirped.

"Mr. Todd, I brought yeh up a nice lit'le lunch 'ere, love!" She pushed the door open with her hip and skipped a little to get herself in motion as she strode towards the small table beside the vanity where all his means were placed, should he eat them or not. The man himself stood with his back to her, staring out that damned bay window, his hands on the sill, his fingers curling around the handle of one of his silver little friends, the razor gleaming in the sunlight that streamed through the glass. The warm light almost made him look too palid to be solid, and Mrs. Lovett almost wanted to touch him to see if he was really real.

What with all he'd done for her and Toby... he had to be an angel. An unconventional angel, but an angel nontheless. Demon? Never. Not _her_ Mr. Todd.

"Nice day, innit?" Mrs. Lovett asked warmly, making conversation. She knew sooner or later he would get annoyed with her and her talking. Mrs. Lovett would chatter away, even if there was no one obviously listening. But that suited her just fine- she figured she liked to hear the sound of her own voice more than she liked to hear other people talking back to her. "I was thinkin' we could go to the parks today, wot yeh say, Mr. T? Such a nice day, it'd be such a shame ta waste it..." She touched her fingers to her chin and walked to his side, reaching out to grab his shoulders and menuver him to sit in his chair. He let her move him, surprisingly enough, and she sat him down in his chair.

"It would be lovely, wouldn't it?" she mused as the barber stared up at her with slightly narrowed eyes, his annoyance appearant on his face. Mrs. Lovett pursed her lips and wrinkled her nose. "No need to be hostile," she shot at him, turning on her heel to skip around the back of the chair, to the vanity, and grab his plate. She set it in his lap and his hands were forced to come down and grip the plate before it slid off his legs and onto the floor. Perhaps he knew the repurcussions that would follow- a.k.a, Nellie Lovett's wrath and breaking a perfectly good dish. Perhaps a dish that only cost her a penny, but a dish nontheless.

"Eat up, love," Mrs. Lovett said lightly as she sat herself on the stool by the window. Her hands rest in her lap lightly. "Watchin' yeh wither away infront of me own eyes don't do me much good at night- yeh always up pacing all hours of the night an' I'm always up worryin' about yeh."

Mr. Todd didn't bother to eat his pie and instead fixed her with a glare. "Get out," he said, his tone exasperated.

Mrs. Lovett placed her hands on her hips. "Now, Mr. T, that's 'ardly gentlemanly. S'no way to talk to a lady!"

"I see no lady," the man snarled in reponse and jerked his head towards the door. "Now get out and leave me to think in peace."

"Think!" Mrs. Lovett crowed, slapping her hand on her knee. "All yeh ever do up 'ere is sit 'n mope and brood and sulk about, pacin' away yeh wrongs at all hours, worryin' me and lit'le Toby and not eatin' the meals yeh get morning, noon an' night. And wot I get fer doin' such treats for yeh? A bay g'bye an' extra shirts and dishes t'wash?"

"Get out!" Mr. Todd snarled, standing and setting the plat on the window sill, stalking towards her with the razor in his hand outstreched.

Mrs. Lovett would admit that she feared him at some points. When he had those razors, wielding high, pinning her to walls and threatening her with his dark eyes and pulled back lips. But it was just another one of his temper tantrums. She knew he would never be able to find another baker who adored him as she did, who loved him as she did, who would do all the things she did for him. And so when the man grabbed her by her arm and began hauling her towards the palor door, she whapped his hand off her. The man looked down with surprised livid hatred coating her face. Oh, how her Mr. Todd despited her. She only wanted his attention.

At least the hate was some connection.

"Now see 'ere, yeh ungrateful brute," Mrs. Lovett snapped, poking her finger in the middle of his chest. "I 'ad enough of yeh temper tantrums fer one week- I'd like this t'be the day I get some rest. I brought yeh up some breakfest this mornin', an' yeh sent me on me way, an' now I bring yeh up some lunch an' yeh haul me out wivout eatin' a bite?" The woman poked him hard in the chest again and the look of surprise on his face for getting reprimanded was almost comical.

"Now yeh down on yehself and eat the damn pie or I'm gonna go on strike!" She placed her hands on her hips and quirked a brow upwards.

Mr. Todd quirked a brow upwards and his expression conveyed wheather or not he should be frightened, or outraged. Finally, he shook his head and placed a hand on her back of her neck, walking back to the chair, sitting down lightly in it. Mrs. Lovett smirked in approval and grabbed the pie of the sill, setting it in his hand. "'Ow'd you get to be so damn scary?" Mr. Todd grumbled. "You used to be a lamb."

"Elementary, my dear," she said, patting him on the cheek as she moved around the back of the chair. "I learn from the best."

Mr. Todd snorted again and shook his head, taking a careful bite of the pie she had presented to him. His eyes, narrowed and full of the livid hatred, but also a bit of tolerant amusement, stared her down. Satisfied, Mrs. Lovett leaned to kiss his temple.

"That's my love," she said brightly, turning on her heel, skipping a little to get herself back into motion before making her way towards the door. She moved to a beat, to her own music, as she was already humming pointless tunes by the time she grabbed the knob of the tonsorial parlor, shutting the door behind her. Down the stairs, tapping and leaping off the bottom step. Going through life with bumping elbows, scraping knees, and flailing limbs, Mrs. Nellie Lovett was, and all for the sake of her own little beat. Above her, she could hear the man pacing again already as she entered the shop, but the foot falls were slower, calmer. She'd learned to read them by now. He was at ease, for the time being.

A smile fell across her lips as she grabbed her rolling pin and beat it gently on the counter, her free hand slamming onto the wood, puffing up flour in a steady rhythmn.


End file.
